


The First Time

by Livvy1800



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Almost Office Sex, Curse Breaking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, POV Hermione Granger, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Second Chances, Slow Build, Starting Over, but its minor, but not that slow, curse breaker partners, he's trying, slow but then suddenly boom there they are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23420050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livvy1800/pseuds/Livvy1800
Summary: The first time Hermione Granger realized she had forgiven Draco Malfoy was at his Wizengamot trial. She didn't see him for another two years.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 20
Kudos: 408





	The First Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aideomai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aideomai/gifts).



> I was reading the lovely Drarry fic Nice Things by aideomai and was inspired to create something soft. Hopefully I managed that a LITTLE bit, even though it got somewhat angsty. Funny how that always seems to happen, lololol *sob*
> 
> But LISTEN, I honestly can't recommend Nice Things enough. It's gorgeous. That story is the sort of Very Nice Thing we all need right now. <3

The first time Hermione Granger realized she had forgiven Draco Malfoy was when he sat down at the stand in front of the Wizengamot for his trial.

Face white and drawn, fear in his clear grey eyes, his shoulders were nonetheless squared with a resolution to accept whatever judgement the tribunal would hand down, regarding his actions during the war. He hadn’t said a word as the prosecutor laid out his crimes, his schoolboy cruelty, his attempt to murder Dumbledore. He only stared straight ahead, mouth set in a straight line. His hair was lank and unwashed from the months he spent in prison awaiting his trial and he’d lost weight he couldn’t afford to shed; it whittled his already sharp features to gaunt.

She watched his mouth tremble, once, when the panel of old, stone-faced wizards gave him the lightest sentence any of the Death Eaters had received, _by far:_ one year of house arrest and four more of probation. It could have gone the other way just as easily, ending in a Dementor’s Kiss, like his father’s trial, and they all knew it. But perhaps the Wizenmagot had seen what Harry insisted he did, what she was beginning to, that Malfoy wasn’t the evil git they’d all been so sure he was. That maybe somewhere under the mean, snobby exterior was someone who just might deserve a second chance. He had clearly been under crushing pressure during the war, forced to do ugly things by an immoral, homicidal monster who’d taken up residence in Malfoy’s own home. If he’d stepped wrong, failed in the tasks he’d been given, his parents’ lives were on the line, and it turned out, in the end, they were all he had.

Hermione found she could emphasize more than she wanted to, having almost lost her own parents in the war herself. Their relationship was still strained from the Oblivation she’d had to work upon them to keep them safe from Death Eaters, shipping them off to live in Australia with no memory of a daughter. Afterwards, when she lifted the spell, their fury with her sole decision to change all their lives like that, mixed with the intense relief she hadn’t been killed, damaged their closeness greatly. But with time, the trio found their way back to being a family, though it would never be the same between them again.

At least she had that. At least she had _something_ with them. Malfoy had lost his family after all, despite his desperate efforts over the previous two years to keep them safe; his father to a Kiss and his mother to the vacant stare that didn’t even clear when he put a careful arm around her fragile shoulders to steer her from the courtroom. Hermione felt a stab of pity for him then, an emotion at war with her reflexive hatred of the boy who’d mercilessly bullied her all through her school years. But he wasn’t that boy anymore. He was a broken young man with scared eyes.

She didn’t know what to do with how that made her feel, and so she turned away when Malfoy passed where she’d sat, unwilling to meet his gaze. It was another two years before she saw him again.

The first time Hermione realized Malfoy didn’t generate an automatic surge of disgust and loathing in her anymore came when she walked into the first day of curse breakers training to find him sitting in the corner of the classroom. He’d chosen a spot that seperated him from the other four students by several desks, and in light of the sneers they were sending his way, she couldn’t blame him for wanting some distance. The three boys and single other girl introduced themselves, eyes widening when she gave her own name. The familiar look of awe in their gazes made her uncomfortable, as if she’d done something heroic instead of just what was necessary. It wasn’t like she, Ron, and Harry had ever had much of a choice, not really, not when it came down to the meat of things. They’d just done what they had to, messy and inelegant and brutal. It was a miracle they’d somehow managed it in the end, honestly, given that they were three children thrown into the middle of a war with not a clue as to what they were doing.

The polite, distant nod Malfoy gave her in comparison felt like a balm to her discomfort, cooling her heated cheeks. The one constant she could always rely on was his absolute lack of reverent admiration.

The first time Hermione felt a sense of respect for Malfoy was when he ruthlessly held the shield charm around the cursed artefact they were paired together to destroy for their second year midterm exam, despite the obvious pain it was causing him. The curse was fighting to find a way out, defending itself against her slow, methodical unraveling of its Dark magic, tendrils of pulsing red stabbing at the shimmering bubble of Malfoy’s shield. It pried at the miniscule cracks it managed to create, vibrating angrily when he doubled his efforts and hardened the shield, sweat popping out on his brow, lips a tight slash in his pale face. She hurried as much as she dared, chanting quickly as her magic snuffed the life out of the dark magic until the pocket watch was just a timepiece again, harmless and handsome.

Malfoy collapsed onto the floor next to her then, his body folding into a graceless slump she’d never seen from him before, mindless of the way his knee pressed against her own. Head bowed, white tendrils of hair sticking damply to the back of his neck, his chest heaved as he struggled to get his breath back. She herself felt tired from the output of power it had taken to deaden the artefact, but he looked positively drained, hands shaking in a way she hadn’t seen since the end of the war.

Finally he lifted his head, swiped the sleeve of one arm across his sweaty forehead, and said, “Nice work, Granger.”

Oh. That was unexpected. Up until then, Malfoy had only ever been polite, his manner reserved and cool. She’d braced herself for insults and sneers in the beginning, at the very least a roll of the eyes whenever she asked a question. When he remained quiet and focused on the professor instead, Hermione became cautiously optimistic he was through with the nasty pettiness he’d displayed in the past. But they still didn’t talk, not beyond what was necessary for their work, and he’d _certainly_ never complimented her before.

“You too. That was one of the best shields I’ve ever seen. Better even than Harry’s, and he’s really good.” The ease at which the return compliment tumbled out, and the discovery that she actually meant it, took Hermione by surprise.

“That’s… very kind of you,” he said after a long pause, grey eyes warming as he studied her with a thoughtful expression.

This new civility between them was nice. Weird, but yeah, nice.

“Not being kind. Just telling the truth.”

She stood, brushing off the back of her robes, then after a slight hesitation, stretched out her hand to help him to his feet. A startled look flitted across his face, then he clasped it, palm to palm, and allowed her to pull him up. Their instructor bustled in then, from where he’d been waiting behind charmed glass in an ajouring room, a wide smile on his face as he told them they’d both passed the exam with flying colors. When he excused them from the rest of the day, ordering them to go take a shower and get something to eat, Malfoy politely held the door for Hermione, waving her through ahead of him.

If it had been any other man, she would have narrowed her eyes in irritation and said that just because she was a woman, it didn’t mean she wasn’t perfectly capable of opening her own doors. But she was cognizant of the fact the gesture was reflexive, a display of ingrained manners leftover from what was likely a strict pureblood upbringing, and resolved not to take offense at the gesture. The stiff, formal way purebloods moved through society still baffled her, with their old-fashioned behaviors and outdated ideas. It was clear Malfoy was in a constant battle not to give into his instincts and follow the ideals with which he’d been raised. He was managing it well so far, from what she saw. Hermione respected how hard that must be, and in turn, discovered she respected his commitment to be a better man than the one he’d been raised to be.

She didn’t know what to do with _that_ any more than she had the long ago surge of pity, and it made her awkward around him for a while, fumbling with her words whenever he turned those slate colored eyes on her.

The first time Hermione realized she enjoyed Malfoy’s company was in the middle of a night out at the pub with a group of their former Hogwarts classmates one Friday night, a little more than a year into their Gringotts curse breakers partnership. It dawned on her as she watched him use his hands sketch out a story for Ginny and Harry, his face open and carefree as he laughed along with them. When he and Hermione had been paired up by the head of the bank’s cursebreaking department, Malfoy had swallowed his pride and started to put real effort into mending his relationship with her friends. When she questioned his actions, confused, he merely stated that they’d be spending a lot of time together in the future and it was ridiculous to carry grudges and anger leftover from their school days. Especially since he’d changed so much, they’d all changed so much, and he so deeply regretted his part in the war. To her surprise, as soon as Harry and Malfoy made peace, the rest of their friends enfolded the Slytherin seamlessly into the group, letting the past die without a fight.

It pleased Hermione more than she’d have thought to see how well Malfoy got along with her friends, now that he’d given them a chance. Her own relationship with him had smoothed and strengthened during their time in the training program and the past year as junior curse breakers. She had been as surprised as anyone to find he actually had a keen, self-deprecating sense of humor when he wasn’t busy being a smarmy little prat. It was strangely satisfying to watch the others laugh at his jokes and listen attentively when he talked about their work.

The first time Hermione realized she was attracted to Malfoy was over a casual dinner of kebabs after a long day identifying and tagging cursed objects in a newly-discovered Death Eater safehouse, leftover from during the war. He was waving his chicken on a stick around, a habit of talking with his hands she’d long gotten used to, eyes bright as he spoke quickly. The dark objects they’d encountered earlier that day were horrifying and dangerous, obviously, but also academically interesting, something Hermione usually appreciated. However, as Malfoy dropped his empty stick on his plate, hardly taking a breath between words, the last thing she was thinking of was work. Her belly swooped as he licked sauce off the pad of his thumb without a thought, his hair shining nearly translucent under the streetlamp next to the patio table where they sat. Stunned by the revelation of her very strong desire to get into her partner’s trousers, Hermione could only sit mute, trying to nod and make _hmm-_ ing noises at the appropriate spots as he rambled on, oblivious to her world having been turned upside down and inside out only moments before. There was nothing to do with her sudden, extremely inconvenient discovery of lust, of course, being who they were: two people who’d fought on opposite sides of the war, that unpleasant incident where she’d been tortured in his childhood home by his own aunt, their ensuing unlikely friendship, and now having been paired up at work. Attraction had no place in their relationship, especially since she was fairly certain it was one-sided.

Unwilling to ruin the harmony they’d found, Hermione smothered the urge to run her fingers along the sharp angle of his jaw, to trace the fine lines at the outside of his eyes, to touch her mouth to the corner of his lips— just to see if she had the power to stop him from prattling on for a moment or two. She locked it away, willing herself to focus on his theory on how to dismantle the cursed mirror that tried to pull in the first Auror on the scene at the house that morning.

Pausing his speech at the deep breath she’d unconsciously sucked in while wrestling her desire into submission, Malfoy’s gaze narrowed, searching her face with an intensity that made her want to blush and look away.

“Alright there, Granger?”

 _Steady on, Hermione._ She met his eyes with a calmness she didn’t feel. “Perfectly. What makes you think that a Rasputin’s Ring will dissolve the magic?”

Another few seconds passed as he studied her, his gaze sharp, and she held herself still, inexplicably feeling like a rabbit hiding in the brush from a predator on the hunt. Finally he broke the moment by reaching for his wine glass, going on to expand on his supposition in that posh drawl she used to hate, but now wanted to bottle up so she could open it later in the privacy of her darkened bedroom.

The day Hermione Granger realized she was hopelessly in love with Draco Malfoy was when they got into their first major fight after seven contentious years at Hogwarts (her punching him in the face during third year didn’t count, it could hardly be termed even a scuffle), two cautious years of curse breakers training, and three years of comfortable partnership.

He paced their office, muscles coiled and tight, his expression furious. Earlier that evening, the dark wizards who’d run when Aurors had tracked down their warehouse of black market cursed objects, came back with reinforcements, and surprised them all while Hermione and Malfoy were packing the crates for transport to their lab at Gringotts. The resulting spell battle was explosive and savage. She hadn’t been in anything like it since the war, and had hoped to never be again. But her old reflexes kicked in and before she knew it, she was in the middle of the Aurors, flinging hexes and charms alongside them. Her partner hadn’t taken that very well, and now everyone in the bank lobby, the elevator ride they took, and their entire department knew it too. He didn’t often throw fits at twenty-three the way he did at sixteen, but when he did, they all knew to duck and cover.

Maybe she could slip out the door if he sunk deep enough into his sulk. Experimentally, Hermione edged towards the far end of her desk, closest to the door. Shoving one hand through hair still ruffled from the wandfight, Malfoy spun to spear her with a vicious look as he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye.

She bit back a sigh. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like she was getting out of this one.

“If you ever do something like that again— throw yourself in front of me— you stupid bint, you could have been killed!” he snarled, color riding high on his cheekbones.

Furious herself, angry he was acting so irrationally, as if she couldn’t take care of herself in a fight, Hermione stiffened. She planted her fists on her desk and leaned in, meeting his glare with her own.

“Firstly, don’t ever call me names again. And _maybe_ if you’d bothered to defend yourself properly, I wouldn’t have to cover you. _Were_ you or were you _not_ living in a Morgana blasted house with Voldemort and his merry band of murderers? Surely you must have learned not to leave yourself open like that!”

“I apologize for the name calling,” Malfoy grit out, sounding like it was being dragged out of him with a meathook. “And apparently for saving your lovely ass from a dark witch who had _you_ in _her_ sights.”

“Patil already had the situation in hand.” Hermione’s dismissal was scathing, despite the vague, very distant pleasure that he thought she had a nice bum. That wasn’t the point. “I would have been fine. You had no business getting in the middle of it, and you put yourself in jeopardy while doing so.”

“I know I don’t have any business in a wandfight anymore, for fuck’s sake. That’s why I chose curse breaking instead of becoming a Hit Wizard, like Shacklebolt wanted after my trial.”

Hermione jolted, horrified that anyone, much less a man she admired so much, could have looked at a malnourished, frightened seventeen year old and think he’d make a great assassin. Even if he _did_ wear a madman’s mark on his arm.

Malfoy wasn’t done however, his voice harsh as he continued. “But if I don’t belong there, then neither do you. If you miss the action so badly, perhaps you should consider a career change. I’m sure the Aurors would love to have you.”

She didn’t bother to dignify that with a response. 

“That bitch was trying to Crucio you, Granger. I couldn’t just stand there and watch it happen.” The fight went out of him suddenly, shoulders slumping as he leaned against a filing cabinet, and the miserable look he sent her spoke volumes. “Not again.”

Her _heart_. It felt like it was trying to escape her chest, battering itself against her ribcage.

“Malfoy—” Hermione stumbled to a halt, unsure what to say next, not wanting to make the moment worse. Drawing in a deep, calming breath, she rounded the desk and stopped a few paces from where he stood. He avoided her gaze, staring at the carpet instead. “That’s over and done with, years ago. You know I don’t hold it against you, for not attempting to protect me from your crazy, evil aunt, Volemort’s own right hand, when she gleefully tortured me in front of several other full grown wizards?”

“I should have tried anyway. _You_ would have. I don’t know how you can forgive me for my cowardice, when I can’t,” he said, his voice dead, finally raising his eyes to meet hers.

“There’s nothing to forgive. You were a child, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Merlin, Granger, why are you so determined to let me off the hook? I was horrible to you all through school, and my family tried to kill you and your friends on more than one occasion. To be truthful, I still can’t figure out how any of you Gryffindors can stand having me around.” Malfoy shoved one hand through his hair again, agitated. “The other day, Potter just dropped by to ask if I wanted to grab a bite at the new pho place down the street for lunch. _For lunch_ , like I’d never tried to torture him in a bathroom and he’d never sliced me open from collarbone to hip in retaliation.” 

Hermione swallowed at the memory of bursting into the lavatory behind Snape to see Malfoy laying in a spreading puddle of his own blood. She felt sick with the narrowness of how close she’d come to losing this… thing… they had, before knowing it was even possible.

“Well, to be fair, Harry’s always had a soft spot for Vietnamese food,” she joked weakly. When he shot her a stony look, she sighed and ran her fingers through her own tangled hair, wincing when they got caught on a snarl. She must look a fright, not having time to freshen up in the ladies before Malfoy had dragged her back to their office. “You’ve changed. We all see it. You rejected the shite your dad trained into you since you were old enough to talk and you’ve made an enormous effort to be a better person. To be honest, once you stopped acting like a bigoted little arsehole, it was _easy_ to like you. You’re funny and intelligent, and a huge nerd when it comes to anything about dragons. Everyone knows not to get you started once you’ve gotten a few Firewhiskeys in your belly. They like you, you prat. Deal with it.”

Malfoy’s lips parted on a huff of disbelieving laughter, cheeks now faintly pink with embarrassment over how obvious his obsession with his namesake was. Hermione let out a mental sigh of relief, sensing the danger had passed. But he still had an air of sadness about him that she didn’t like, not one bit. It was crap, stuck in a cycle of blaming oneself for things they were forced to do, and so difficult to break free of that sort of thought process. She knew that from personal experience. That he still cared so very much had come as a bit of a shock, truthfully. Taking a chance that he wouldn’t turn snappish again, Hermione stepped closer, wanting to comfort him. Maybe she was being ridiculous for even considering asking if he would accept a hug.

He tracked her movement with the sort of heightened awareness she could have done more with back at the warehouse. His muscles wound tight with a different sort of tension as he watched her, and her pulse picked up, and her mouth went dry, and she thought,

oh.

She thought, maybe.

Maybe she wasn’t alone in this drowning tangle of love and lust and _fondness_ , after all.

Summoning all her Gryffindor courage, Hermione gave into the desire she’d had for years, and reached out to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead with the sort of tender touch one reserves for their lovers.

“ _I_ like you.”

“Do you?” Malfoy murmured, an arrested look in his eyes that made her belly flip in anticipation. He reached out and grasped her by the waist with long, elegant fingers much more suited to delicate curse work than battle, and reeled her in until she bumped up against his body. A small smirk hitched up one side of his mouth. “How much do you like me?”

“A lot.”

“A lot? Not a very scientific measurement, to borrow one of your Muggle phrases. You might need to be more specific.”

“You want specific?” Hermione lost the fight to hold back a grin that had gone mortifyingly goofy, her heart as light as a balloon. She stretched up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his, gasping as he immediately parted his lips, granting her access. Winding her arms around his neck, she deepened the kiss, pouring years of need into it. Malfoy groaned, both hands dropping to her hips and holding her in place as his hardness made itself known, pressing against her lower belly. Heat burned through Hermione like Fiendfyre, turning the movement of her mouth on his fevered. Only when he backed her up against her desk, the edge of the wood biting into her thighs, did she remember they were still at work.

There were better places to be doing this. Places like her flat or his, places with a _bed_.

With a breathless laugh, she broke the kiss, “How’s that for specific?”

“I don’t know, I might need to collect more sample data before I can come to a conclusion one way or another.” Malfoy’s smile was sharp as he fastened his gaze on her mouth and leaned forward again. But she held him off with one hand planted on his chest, feeling unaccountably like playing, letting the effervescence bubbling up inside her take control.

“I don’t usually do this before the first date, you know.”

“You want dinner and... what do Muggles call it? A mov-ee, Granger? I read somewhere that’s a standard first date in their world,” he drawled, pressing forward against her palm just enough to let her know he was _allowing_ her to hold him there. “How about we bring take-out back to your place? We can eat it after and watch whatever the hell you want.”

“After?” Her voice was shaky with desire, and so were her knees, Merlin.

“After I fuck you until you come screaming my name loud enough to have your neighbors calling the Aurors.” Gently knocking away her hand, Malfoy stepped forward, the soft look in his eyes at odds with his filthy words.

She choked on a laugh. “Might be awkward if they send Harry.”

“I’ll just tell him to piss off and take you back to bed.” He tilted his head, fingers sliding up and down her lower back in a hypnotizing pattern. “Are you in or are you out?”

The hint of vulnerability in his cocky question had Hermione linking her arms around Malfoy’s waist and squeezing him in a tight hug. He let out an amused grunt at the unexpected pressure, but she felt the sweet press of his lips on the top of her head even as his hands drifted down to cup her bum. Circe, she loved this man. Who would have ever thought?

“I’m so in,” she said, letting the dizzy feeling overtake her as he Apparated them away.

**Thirty Minutes Later:**

The first time Hermione Granger called Draco Malfoy by his first name, he was moving inside her, his thrusts making her see stars. She clawed at his bare back as he panted in her ear, telling her how good she felt, how perfect she was, how well she was taking him in. She hadn’t meant to say it, his name a half-plea, half-prayer on her lips, just slipping out as her orgasm crashed down over her. Draco lost all control then, hips pistoning as he plunged into her, chasing his own release as she thrashed under him, the overload of sensation almost driving her out of her mind. Finally, he thrust one last time, driving deep as she lifted her hips off the mattress to meet his, and then collapsed, rolling at the last moment to avoid crushing her. They lay side by side, chests heaving, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, neither speaking. Hermione was too blissed out to worry that the silence might turn awkward. Despite how complicated their toxic past, current friendship, and working relationship might make things, there was a sense of _rightness_ having him in her bed.

After a moment, she heard the rustle of movement against sheets, and his fingers tangled with hers. Turning her head to the side, Hermione glanced over to find him watching her with a small, private smile she’d never seen before. He looked so good like this, all rumpled and well fucked, his hair flopping over one eye. She privately resolved to keep him in this state as much as possible.

“Want to order take-out and watch something?”

Sitting up, Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the bed and swiped his shirt off the floor, from where she’d flung it earlier. “Pizza and Madagascar.”

“The country?” Draco’s voice was puzzled as he stood with his back to her, and hitched his trousers up without bothering to put pants on first. She bit her lip, pulling her gaze away from the tight curve of his bum and refocused on the matter at hand.

“The animated movie,” Hermione corrected, dodging his hands as he caught sight of her in only his buttoned up shirt and a pair of fresh panties, darting out ahead of him into the living room. “It’s fun, you’ll like it. And while we wait for the food, I brought files home from the Wellington case last night that we can go over.”

“Of course you did.” Draco’s voice was full of fond exasperation as two strong arms wrapped around her from behind when she picked up the phone to call in their order. “Fine. Work, pizza, movie, then more sex. Although I don’t know if we’ve prioritized the order of things correctly, to be honest.”

Her already full heart fizzed and burbled as she dropped the phone back into the hook, tipping her head back for his kiss. Then she turned and linked her hands behind his neck, looking up at him through her lashes mischievously. “I’m willing to be persuaded to rearrange the itinerary, if we must.”

“You know, Granger, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m probably going to fall in love with you and you’ll have no one but yourself to blame. Then where will you be?” He played with the tiny buttons on the shirt she wore, slipping them one by one out of their holes.

Hermione covered his hands with hers and stretched up to plant a firm kiss on his mouth.

“Exactly where I hope to be.”

The incandescent grin Draco flashed her as he hitched her up into his arms and carried her back into the bedroom told her she was already there.


End file.
